Secrets of the Heart

by Vickie McDonough

  “That sounds nice. I’ll go check on Ruthie. She seems more out of sorts than normal.”

  Chesny snorted. “That girl, she always got a beehive under her skirts.”

  “I suspect, she’s probably just upset at returning home tomorrow. She won’t admit it, but she likes being at Madison Gardens.”

  “Humph. I sure cain’t tell by how she acts.” Chesny leaned toward Hannah and nudged her chin toward the bed. “That stranger, he be a learned man.”

  Hannah turned back to her patient. Now that she thought about it, he didn’t have the dialect of a common-born man. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she’d detected a faint English accent.

  Her eyes widened. What if he was an Englishman come to stir up trouble? Talk about there being another war with England ran rampant these days. What if he was a spy?

  ❧

  “What do you mean you lost him?”

  Sam smoothed his bushy moustache and cast a wary glance toward the man he knew only as Boss. Average in height, with a belly resembling a pregnant woman’s late in her term, Boss preferred telling others what to do rather than doing things himself. Boss only answered to one man, and Sam had no idea who that was, but as long as he was paid for his work, he didn’t care.

  “Jeeter was a bit rough on the kid,” Sam said. “When he wouldn’t talk, Jeeter punched him in the face and kicked him in the side a couple times.”

  “He didn’t feel nuthin’. He was already mostly dead from that fall off his horse.” Jeeter said, spewing a stream of tobacco spit on the ground, mere inches from Boss’s dusty boots.

  Boss jumped back four inches, almost too much for his rotund frame. “Jeeter, you idiot.”

  Sam stifled the laugh rising up within. Boss reminded him of a chicken with clipped wings as his beefy arms flapped and he wrestled to regain his footing.

  “You spit on my new boots, and I’ll knock the tar out of you. I didn’t want that kid killed, at least not until I found who he told what to. Mr. S. won’t be happy about this.” Boss removed his hat and smoothed out his thinning strands of hair in a futile attempt to cover his balding head. Cramming his hat back on, he turned to Sam. “Did you search him?”

  “Yeah, Boss.” Sam studied the dust on his own boots to avoid Boss’s scrutinizing gaze. “We went clean through his clothes and the saddlebags of that horse he stole. There wasn’t nuthin’ there,” he muttered, twisting the end of his bushy moustache.

  “You sure you got the right kid?” Boss asked.

  “Well, I reckon,” Jeeter scratched his chest. “We found him at a tavern in Charleston not long after he jumped ship. Would’a caught him then if he hadn’t seen us come in the door. He climbed on the nearest table and jumped out a window. Was down the road and nearly out of sight on that stolen horse before we could get out the door.”

  “Don’t you keep those shanghaied sailors locked up when you make port?” Boss yanked off his hat again and slapped it against his leg. A small cloud of dust floated down to the ground. “I still don’t see how he got away once you caught him.”

  “It took most of the day to catch up with him, and we only did then because his horse gave out. The kid was out cold all evening, so we bedded down for the night. Jeeter was on watch, but he must’a nodded off.” Sam glanced at the scrawny little sailor. He was nothing but an old fool as far as Sam was concerned. There was no reason for him to be so rough on the boy, but he’d taken an immediate disliking to Cooper Reed the day he was brought aboard ship.

  “I did not fall asleep.” Jeeter puffed up his chest, his black eyes flaming.

  “Wasn’t the kid tied up?” Boss asked.

  “He was knocked senseless. Kicked in the head by his horse, from the looks of it. There weren’t no reason to tie him up.” Jeeter curled his lip, crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I told you to tie him up anyway, whil’st I got the firewood.” Sam wasn’t about to take the blame for something Jeeter had failed to do.

  “You two lame-brain good-fer-nuthin’s. You sound like a couple of kids arguin’. I should’a gone myself. Now, what am I gonna tell Mr. S.? If that kid tells anyone what he knows, we’re all gonna be dead, Mr. S. will see to that. His business—and his good name—are on the line.”

  “The kid couldn’t have got far. We scared his horse off so he was on foot, and bad as he was hurtin’, he’s gotta to be around here close by.”

  “Pack up then,” Boss ordered. “We gotta find him.”

  ❧

  “Miz Hannah, somebody be comin’.” Simeon slowed the buggy and glanced back over his shoulder.

  Hannah lifted the large brim of her straw hat and gazed across the meadow. Squinting from the glare of the brilliant morning sun, she lifted her hand to block the light. A tall, thin man rode toward them. His thick, droopy moustache touched the bottom of his chin. His musket was drawn and rested across his lap. Hannah glanced at Chesny, seated across from her, gave her maid a brief nod, then focused her gaze on the stranger.

  When the buggy stopped, two more men rode out of the trees in their direction. Hannah wished now that she’d taken her brother up on his offer to escort her to Reed Springs this morning, but with her father in Charleston, along with her mother, Michael was needed at home to oversee things. “Drive on, Simeon.”

  The smaller man kicked his horse, trotted over, and stopped in front of the buggy.

  “Now just hold on there, ma’am. We don’t mean you no harm. Just need some information.”

  Hannah eyed the heavyset man who’d spoken, wondering how he’d ever managed to get on his horse. The poor animal would be swayback before the year’s end, for sure. She plastered a charitable smile on her face and struggled to keep her voice steady. “What kind of information do you gentlemen need?”

  “Who are you? Start with that,” the fat man ordered.

  Hannah stood, hoping the benefit of height would make her seem less vulnerable, and it put her closer to the muff pistol hiding under Chesny’s apron, should she need it. “My name’s Hannah Madison, and this is my father’s land.” She narrowed her eyes and glared at the third man positioned in front of the matched black geldings that pulled her buggy.

  “My, my, Boss, we got us Richard Madison’s girl.” The small man’s leering gaze roved down Hannah’s body and back up.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and swallowed. Keep us safe, Lord.

  “Shut up, you fool.” The man called Boss stared at her. “Look, Miss Madison. We just want to know if you’ve seen a stranger ’bout your age, riding a dun gelding around these parts. We’ve got some business to take care of with him. That’s all.”

  “Uh. . .no. You three gentlemen are the only folks I’ve seen since we left home.” It was true, she reasoned. She hadn’t seen her stranger today—and he definitely wouldn’t be riding with all his injuries. Not yet anyway. “We don’t usually see too many folks way out here. ’Course we do see a trapper and an old Indian ever so often. Oh, and once in a great while, a traveling man comes past our home and sells his wares to my mother. Life on these big plantations can be lonely.” Of course, not too lonely when Ruthie had just boarded a ship back to Charleston less than an hour earlier.

  Hannah smiled and casually smoothed out her dress, hoping to come across like an overly friendly neighbor. While her outer demeanor remained calm, her insides were treacherously close to giving her away. Could it be possible that these three men had attacked her stranger? What could these ruffians want with him? He had nothing—no possessions of any kind that Hannah had noticed. Not even a horse or a change of clothing.

  The big man snorted and rolled his eyes at the other two men. “Missy, all we want to know is if you’ve seen a dark-haired kid riding a big dun.”

  “I’ve already answered that, haven’t I? Excuse me, gentlemen, but I’m expected somewhere soon. I can assure you that I haven’t seen the man you’re searching for, riding a horse or not. In fact, you’re the only people I’ve seen riding today.”

/>   Hannah forced herself to look from man to man. Both the moustached man and the smaller one looked ready to agree, but Boss scowled at her. She kept a smile on her lips and steadily held his gaze, though she wanted nothing more than to race away like the wind.

  Finally, he grunted, “I guess you don’t know nothin’. We’d best be gettin’ along.”

  “Good day, gentlemen.” Hannah flashed them what she hoped was a charming smile. She sat down and eyed Chesny. The woman lifted a corner of her apron, revealing the walnut stock of the flintlock pistol Hannah’s father had insisted she learn to use and carry with her whenever she left home. This was the first time she had come close to possibly needing it. But then, what good would one gun have been against three? She blew out a heavy sigh. Perhaps she should let Michael escort her to the Reeds from now on.

  Five

  Hannah could barely wait to get to Reed Springs to see how her stranger had fared overnight. Dear Lord, please let him be all right.

  “Them men’s lookin’ fo’ that stranger you done got stowed up at the Reeds, ain’t they?”

  Hannah stared at Chesny. The dark-skinned woman was beginning to age. More gray than black hair peeked out from her head wrap, and small wrinkles were etched in the corners of her eyes and around her mouth. She boldly held Hannah’s gaze, unlike most Negroes. Hannah nodded.

  “I wonder what that young feller done to rile them so.”

  “I don’t know, but nothing could deserve such a beating. I do believe they aim to kill him.” Hannah wrung her hands. “We can’t let them find him, and if they’re of a mind to search the Reeds’ house, none of the servants would be able to stop them.”

  Chesny leaned forward just as Simeon pulled the buggy to a stop in front of the Reed Springs main house. “We needs to put him in the hidey hole.”

  Hannah jumped up and hugged her maid. “Perfect! Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you ain’t played in that place in years.”

  Hannah climbed down. “I’ll go and check on our patient, and you can see what state the secret room is in.”

  Chesny clambered out of the buggy backward. On the ground, she straightened her dress and head wrap, then followed Hannah inside and up the stairs.

  Hannah glanced back over her shoulder. “Why aren’t you checking on the room?”

  “I ain’t leavin’ you and that feller all alone together.”

  Hannah reached the landing, shaking her head. “What’s he going to do? He’s stuck in bed and needs help so much as to sit up.”

  “He be in bed—in a nightshirt, no less. Just ain’t proper for you two youngun’s to be alone in a bedroom.”

  Hannah knew Chesny was only watching out for her and doing as Hannah’s mother would do if she were here. She took a breath, then tiptoed into the room. She stopped next to the bed and watched her stranger’s chest rise and fall with his steady breathing. He’d shaven—or been shaved. His wounded eye was as large as a goose egg and colored an angry black and purple. His lips were still swollen, and the bandage on his head needed changing.

  She turned and tiptoed back to Chesny. “See, he’s asleep, so you can go ahead and check out the secret room.”

  Chesny crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “I ain’t goin’ nowheres—leastwise not unless you go, too.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes and strode from the room. Downstairs in the dining room, she stopped in front of a sideboard that ofttimes when she visited as a child with her parents had been covered with food. Her hand grazed across the smooth wood of the elegantly carved sideboard, and for a moment she lost herself in the memories.

  Those had been enjoyable times when she’d played with the Reed children. She’d been the youngest child. Jamie and Cooper were both older than her and Michael, though Coop was only three years her senior.

  She glanced around, making sure no one other than Chesny saw her; then she crossed the room to a pantry that sat between the dining room and the stairs to the kitchen on the first floor. She reached her hand behind a large crock and found the lever that opened the door of the secret room.

  She pushed on a wide board, and the door swung back. The opening was much smaller than she remembered. Glancing behind her, she caught Chesny’s eye. “Do Maisy and Leta know about this room?”

  Chesny nodded. “They do.”

  “We’re going to need a lantern.” Hannah studied the opening. Her stranger would have to turn sideways to get in. She hoped moving him again wouldn’t be a mistake.

  But then, she could hardly take a chance that those men might find him and finish the job she was certain they had started.

  Back upstairs, she studied the sleeping man. His politeness and gentleness in the face of so much pain impressed her. She wondered if he had a family who worried about him. A mother and father. A special lady friend or wife. Suddenly it dawned on her there was something else she could do to help this stranger in need. She could pray.

  She bowed her head. “Dear Lord, why would anyone want to hurt this man? I know a blow to the head and broken ribs can be serious. Please watch over him and heal his body. Give me wisdom to know how to treat his wounds, and if those men are after him, Lord, please don’t let them find him.”

  ❧

  He awoke to the sound of ripping fabric. The young woman—Miss Madison—stood at his feet, tearing a large piece of cloth into smaller pieces.

  “You came back.” He smiled, stinging his lips.

  “Did you think I’d forget about you?”

  He shrugged. “Where is your friend?”

  “She left this morning on her father’s vessel, bound for Charleston.”

  “Ah, well, I’m glad you’re here and not her.”

  Miss Madison’s brows lifted as if in chastisement. She turned away, but not before he caught the tiniest of smiles teasing the corners of her lips. She walked to the window and stared out. “You should not say such things.”

  “Why not? I’m simply speaking the truth. Your friend was obviously put off being in the same room with me, where you graciously tended my wounds with care even though you could have easily assigned one of your servants to do the task.” If anyone had ever touched him so tenderly, he couldn’t remember. He winced. What a shame it would be to forget something like that.

  What else was he not remembering?

  He stared up at the ceiling, searching the vast emptiness of his mind. How could he have lived to be a grown man but not know anything of his past?

  Miss Madison’s servant bustled through the door, carrying a tray. The scent of eggs and ham drifted toward him. His stomach hollered for attention. He attempted to sit up, but a sharp pain in his side shoved him back to the bed. He sucked in a ragged breath.

  Miss Madison rushed to his bedside. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  The servant stepped to her side and scowled. “You should’a waited on me, Miz Hannah.”

  He eyed the woman and her servant. It seemed odd for the black woman to be talking to her mistress in such a manner, but it didn’t seem to bother Miss Madison.

  “Don’t you think we should move him before he eats?” Miss Madison glanced at her servant.

  “Move me?”

  “We. . .uh. . .had an encounter with some ruffians this morning.” Miss Madison wrung her hands together, her pretty face puckered with worry. “They were looking for a man who resembled you.”

  “Me?” Who would be after him? What had he done? He pressed his palms against his forehead. Why couldn’t he remember?

  Miss Madison gently pulled his hand down. “Don’t fret. It won’t help things.”

  He glared up at her. “How would you feel if you knew nothing about who you were, not even your name? I don’t know if I have a family who’s worried about me or if I’m totally alone in the world. And now you say someone may be hunting for me. I may be putting you in danger by simply being in your home.” He blew out a frustrated breath.

  “We’re prepared for t
hat. There’s a special hiding place in this home, and that’s where we’re moving you.”

  “But first, you needs to eat up and get some strength in them legs of yo’s.” The Negro woman set the food tray on a nearby table that held a lamp.

  “Do you think you can sit up if we help you?” Miss Madison smiled, her beautiful blue eyes lighting up, and he felt he could do just about anything to make her grin again. He nodded.

  “Wonderful. Chesny, if you’ll reach across the bed and take hold of his right hand, I’ll help lift his shoulders. Maybe we won’t put too much pressure on his ribs that way.”

  The servant eyed him and looked as if she would argue with her mistress, but then she reached across the bed and held out her hand. Miss Madison bent down and slid an arm behind his shoulders. In spite of the older woman watching him like a mother bear, he tilted his head slightly and sniffed Miss Madison’s sweet scent. Would her skin be as soft to touch as it looked?

  A yank on his arm brought him back to his senses. He glanced up to meet Chesny’s narrowed gaze. “You’d best hurry and eat ’fo’ them men come for you.”

  “Are you ready?” Miss Madison’s cheek was pleasingly close to his, but this time he kept his head properly facing forward.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “All right then. Just take it carefully. I don’t want to hurt you any more than you have already been.”

  Bracing for the unwanted pain he knew was coming, he took as deep a breath as was possible with his chest tied up tighter than a woman’s corset. With a heave, he hoisted himself up, with one lady pushing and the other pulling. Every little movement sent pain resonating from his head to his toes. No, come to think of it, his toes were about the only part of his body that didn’t hurt.

  He finally sat up with his legs hanging off the side of the bed. Fighting the dizziness that made the room tilt on its axis, he closed his eyes and leaned forward. Miss Madison’s firm grip on his shoulder offered him support as he struggled to regain his balance. He concentrated on a mental picture of Miss Madison’s golden hair and kind blue eyes. After a few moments, he opened his eyes. The room slowly came back into focus.